Thursday, 18th April, 2013.
After the rather dispirited atmosphere of the town, the Shíbǎozhài Pagoda was delightful. The mist had lifted and the sky was quite blue – something not to be taken for granted in China.
The temple at the top was built during the reign of Emperor Qianlong (1736 - 96) and access to it was by an iron chain attached to the cliff. A nine-storeyed wooden pavilion was added in 1819 so that monks and visitors to the temple (including us, thank goodness) would not have to suffer the discomforts of the chain ascent. In 1956 three more storeys were added, presumably for decoration, as the temple could already be accessed.
Watching our group climbing this 220-metre hill by iron chain would have been entertaining.
Here, our cheery guide explains how the pagoda was saved from the inundation of the Three Gorges Dam. The picture at the bottom left shows the pagoda before the dam was built, on a hill which was still part of the mainland. Raising the water level about 80 metres would have flooded the lower stories of the pagoda, so a strong wall was built around it, as well as a suspension bridge (to the right of the pagoda in the top picture) to link it to the mainland.
Here is another view of the temple, the pagoda and the surrounding town, taken in 1980. All of the surrounding town in this picture is now under water. Most of the buildings were destroyed before the dam was filled, as they would have presented a hazard to shipping.
As far as I could understand from the few people who spoke to us in English about this matter, the official line for people who were displaced is: “Yes, we were sad when we saw our houses being destroyed/going under water. But the government has been kind to us, and now we are much better off. We are proud to have been able to serve the people of our country in this way.”
But I could be wrong.
By the time we were channelled past all the market stalls and arrived at the colourful gate of the suspension bridge, a lot more people (i.e. tourists, probably other groups from our boat) had arrived. You can see quite a few people from our tour here.
Near the gate of the suspension bridge was a row of statues of heads of the animals in the Chinese zodiac. Pat was born in the Year of the Dog.
Cheri and I were born in the Year of the Boar (which sounds much nicer than the Year of the Pig) but we're not saying which one.
The suspension bridge was bouncy and lots of fun. (This picture of the bridge was taken later, from the top of the hill.)
As we walked across the suspension bridge, we could see our lovely Century Sun waiting for us in the Yangtze, and the floating pontoon which gave access to the boat. Every time we walked across this pontoon, there would be a staff member about every five metres wishing us a nice day or welcoming us back. I thought at the time it was just a nice friendly gesture, but on reflection I wondered if they were there to help fish us out of the water if we fell in.
If you look hard, you can see that there were still lots of people washing their clothes in the river.
The pagoda has been beautifully saved. You can see the people walking around the top of the wall that surrounds the pagoda and keeps the water of the dam out.
Inside the wall, a lush garden surrounds the base of the pagoda.
The official line.
I will.
I kept waiting for the cottage to enter, but it never did.
Climbing up to this temple by iron chain up the wall would have been quite a feat.
The pagoda has been built entirely of wood, with no nails. The rock of the hill forms the back wall, except for the top three storeys, which are free standing.
The tall yellow entrance gate is decorated with lions and dragons and etched with an inscription inviting the visitor to climb the ladder and ascend into a 'Little Fairyland'.
A friendly dragon.
Phoenix and dragon, symbols of longevity.
Another symbol of longevity. I have seen this symbol, so many times, in Chinese restaurants etc, and now I finally know what it means.
Each floor of the pagoda is dedicated to famous generals of the Three Kingdoms period (AD 220--65), local scholars and renowned Chinese poets.
Climbing the stairs of the pagoda was probably not terribly different from ascending by iron chain. The stairs were extremely steep and high, and gasping tourists were to be found on every floor.
I’m not really sure who these colourful people are – I was one of the gasping.
If couples grasped fingers around this rock, it was supposed to bring them good luck or lots of money or yet more longevity – I didn’t really register which, as I was still gasping.
Pat and a golden lion, on the way to 'Little Fairyland'.
When we reached the 9th storey, you could hop out and go to the temple (on the right) which Pat opted to do. However, having reached #9, I decided it couldn’t be much more effort to go to #12, so carried on. #9 to #10, and #10 to #11 weren’t much harder than the previous storeys, but the way from #11 to #12 was by a very thin ladder which led vertically upwards to a very small aperture, not much bigger than the average western woman’s bottom. Having breathlessly arrived on the second top floor, I wasn’t about to give up, so launched myself awkwardly skywards. Getting myself and my camera onto the top storey was not easy or graceful. The ladder ended abruptly at floor level, so when you had enough of yourself through the hole, you had to flop onto the floor and wriggle forwards with as much grace and elegance as you could to get your legs up. This very small area was already full of people, so it wasn’t what you would call an entrance with panache.
Having arrived, with a great loss of dignity and equilibrium, I was determined to make the most of it, and photographed everything my trembling hands could reach, through the four circular windows.
Here is a bit of the roof below, and a bit of the opposite bank of the Yangtze, through a bit of the window.
This top storey was about the size of a small lift, and seemed to contain more people than a small lift should.
Here is a view of the town of Shíbǎozhài, with some local (very tall) vegetation in the foreground.
Here is our dear Century Sun, looking so solid, so safe and so far away.
It soon became obvious that there was nothing left to photograph, and I would have to go down. Not as easy as it sounds, as people kept coming up.
We make fun of our Workplace Health and Safety rules at home, which often seem to be ridiculously over-cautious. Right now, I was longing for a few WHS rules which would surely have stipulated a handrail for the floor-level ladder. As it was, I had to either get down on all fours or lie on the floor (I can’t remember which), insert my legs into the hole, wave them around until by some miracle they connected with the ladder, then somehow get down. I have no recollection of how this happened, but it must have worked, as I am still here today.
When I reached the bottom of Storey #10, I met these beautiful Chinese girls. I don’t believe they had been up to Storey #12 – it was not the kind of activity you would knowingly undertake in a dress.
Pat was sorry he had not met the Chinese girls, but I had no sympathy for him. If he had come up to Storey #12, he might have met them as well.
Inside the temple.
Still inside the temple. I can’t seem to help taking pictures of people playing musical instruments.
And still inside the temple.
In the temple courtyard. If you can get across this bridge with fewer than three steps for a man, or four for a woman, you will have good luck. Tatyana, who is very athletic, made it across hardly touching the bridge at all.
John put in a good performance as well.
Back onto our lovely Century Sun, and we sailed away past the island of the Shíbǎozhài Pagoda and Temple.
It faded into the distance as we continued our way along the Yangtze towards Chongqing.
After the rather dispirited atmosphere of the town, the Shíbǎozhài Pagoda was delightful. The mist had lifted and the sky was quite blue – something not to be taken for granted in China.
The temple at the top was built during the reign of Emperor Qianlong (1736 - 96) and access to it was by an iron chain attached to the cliff. A nine-storeyed wooden pavilion was added in 1819 so that monks and visitors to the temple (including us, thank goodness) would not have to suffer the discomforts of the chain ascent. In 1956 three more storeys were added, presumably for decoration, as the temple could already be accessed.
Watching our group climbing this 220-metre hill by iron chain would have been entertaining.
Here, our cheery guide explains how the pagoda was saved from the inundation of the Three Gorges Dam. The picture at the bottom left shows the pagoda before the dam was built, on a hill which was still part of the mainland. Raising the water level about 80 metres would have flooded the lower stories of the pagoda, so a strong wall was built around it, as well as a suspension bridge (to the right of the pagoda in the top picture) to link it to the mainland.
Here is another view of the temple, the pagoda and the surrounding town, taken in 1980. All of the surrounding town in this picture is now under water. Most of the buildings were destroyed before the dam was filled, as they would have presented a hazard to shipping.
As far as I could understand from the few people who spoke to us in English about this matter, the official line for people who were displaced is: “Yes, we were sad when we saw our houses being destroyed/going under water. But the government has been kind to us, and now we are much better off. We are proud to have been able to serve the people of our country in this way.”
But I could be wrong.
By the time we were channelled past all the market stalls and arrived at the colourful gate of the suspension bridge, a lot more people (i.e. tourists, probably other groups from our boat) had arrived. You can see quite a few people from our tour here.
The suspension bridge was bouncy and lots of fun. (This picture of the bridge was taken later, from the top of the hill.)
As we walked across the suspension bridge, we could see our lovely Century Sun waiting for us in the Yangtze, and the floating pontoon which gave access to the boat. Every time we walked across this pontoon, there would be a staff member about every five metres wishing us a nice day or welcoming us back. I thought at the time it was just a nice friendly gesture, but on reflection I wondered if they were there to help fish us out of the water if we fell in.
If you look hard, you can see that there were still lots of people washing their clothes in the river.
The pagoda has been beautifully saved. You can see the people walking around the top of the wall that surrounds the pagoda and keeps the water of the dam out.
Inside the wall, a lush garden surrounds the base of the pagoda.
The official line.
I will.
I kept waiting for the cottage to enter, but it never did.
Climbing up to this temple by iron chain up the wall would have been quite a feat.
The pagoda has been built entirely of wood, with no nails. The rock of the hill forms the back wall, except for the top three storeys, which are free standing.
The tall yellow entrance gate is decorated with lions and dragons and etched with an inscription inviting the visitor to climb the ladder and ascend into a 'Little Fairyland'.
A friendly dragon.
Phoenix and dragon, symbols of longevity.
Another symbol of longevity. I have seen this symbol, so many times, in Chinese restaurants etc, and now I finally know what it means.
Each floor of the pagoda is dedicated to famous generals of the Three Kingdoms period (AD 220--65), local scholars and renowned Chinese poets.
Climbing the stairs of the pagoda was probably not terribly different from ascending by iron chain. The stairs were extremely steep and high, and gasping tourists were to be found on every floor.
I’m not really sure who these colourful people are – I was one of the gasping.
If couples grasped fingers around this rock, it was supposed to bring them good luck or lots of money or yet more longevity – I didn’t really register which, as I was still gasping.
Pat and a golden lion, on the way to 'Little Fairyland'.
When we reached the 9th storey, you could hop out and go to the temple (on the right) which Pat opted to do. However, having reached #9, I decided it couldn’t be much more effort to go to #12, so carried on. #9 to #10, and #10 to #11 weren’t much harder than the previous storeys, but the way from #11 to #12 was by a very thin ladder which led vertically upwards to a very small aperture, not much bigger than the average western woman’s bottom. Having breathlessly arrived on the second top floor, I wasn’t about to give up, so launched myself awkwardly skywards. Getting myself and my camera onto the top storey was not easy or graceful. The ladder ended abruptly at floor level, so when you had enough of yourself through the hole, you had to flop onto the floor and wriggle forwards with as much grace and elegance as you could to get your legs up. This very small area was already full of people, so it wasn’t what you would call an entrance with panache.
Having arrived, with a great loss of dignity and equilibrium, I was determined to make the most of it, and photographed everything my trembling hands could reach, through the four circular windows.
Here is a bit of the roof below, and a bit of the opposite bank of the Yangtze, through a bit of the window.
This top storey was about the size of a small lift, and seemed to contain more people than a small lift should.
Here is a view of the town of Shíbǎozhài, with some local (very tall) vegetation in the foreground.
Here is our dear Century Sun, looking so solid, so safe and so far away.
It soon became obvious that there was nothing left to photograph, and I would have to go down. Not as easy as it sounds, as people kept coming up.
We make fun of our Workplace Health and Safety rules at home, which often seem to be ridiculously over-cautious. Right now, I was longing for a few WHS rules which would surely have stipulated a handrail for the floor-level ladder. As it was, I had to either get down on all fours or lie on the floor (I can’t remember which), insert my legs into the hole, wave them around until by some miracle they connected with the ladder, then somehow get down. I have no recollection of how this happened, but it must have worked, as I am still here today.
When I reached the bottom of Storey #10, I met these beautiful Chinese girls. I don’t believe they had been up to Storey #12 – it was not the kind of activity you would knowingly undertake in a dress.
Pat was sorry he had not met the Chinese girls, but I had no sympathy for him. If he had come up to Storey #12, he might have met them as well.
Inside the temple.
Still inside the temple. I can’t seem to help taking pictures of people playing musical instruments.
And still inside the temple.
In the temple courtyard. If you can get across this bridge with fewer than three steps for a man, or four for a woman, you will have good luck. Tatyana, who is very athletic, made it across hardly touching the bridge at all.
John put in a good performance as well.
Back onto our lovely Century Sun, and we sailed away past the island of the Shíbǎozhài Pagoda and Temple.
It faded into the distance as we continued our way along the Yangtze towards Chongqing.
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